Wapun Meadow There's ice in my water,

even a handful of weeks ago, merrick might have enjoyed the toying longer. 
run, he might have said, grinning his death's-mask smile and allowing her to flee desperately into the snow, snapping for her, catching her again and again;
blood swirled between his teeth and the sound that came next was half-gasp and half-moan;
merrick shoved his matted, reeking body against her, refusing to relinquish his grasp;
he wanted to hear her scream, cry, beg; all falling upon the unrelenting ears of the bear which beat fast and harsh in his throat and in his veins.
a sacrifice — for him, for the godhead in him;
merrick hummed a tuneless melody as he arched, knowing that at any moment she might rip away from him, and then his true hunting could begin.